


Ermintrude Heals a Rift

by Mara



Series: The Ermintrude Chronicles [4]
Category: Secret Adventures of Jules Verne
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the UST is getting on Ermintrude's nerves too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ermintrude Heals a Rift

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chesh, who selflessly donated this plot bunny to the cause. Shippy enough for ya? As always, thanks to Aspen and Ellen. This story makes reference to my (non-Ermintrude) story "Abbeville," but it isn't really a sequel. However, this story does contain a few *spoilers* for "Abbeville," so if you plan to read that one, do so first.
> 
> For simplicity's sake, I'm choosing to ignore Secrets of the Realm and the Victorian Candidate.

The tension in the Fogg London house was not only thick enough to slice, it was sharp enough to slice you back. Passepartout fluttered helplessly back and forth between Phileas and Rebecca trying to soothe them, but to no avail.

Phileas, true to form, was holed up in his study, staring blankly at the whisky. On the up side, he hadn't drunk any. On the down side, Passepartout suspected that Phileas just wanted to be clear-headed so he could continue arguing.

Rebecca was in her suite trying to look calm and collected, but failing miserably, at least to Passepartout's practiced eyes. She was attempting to do her hair, but after three tries it was still falling down.

"Miss Rebecca, can I be helping you with your hair?"

"No thank you, Passepartout, I'm *quite* capable--despite my cousin's belief to the contrary--of taking care of myself. Then Rebecca looked at the stricken manservant. She managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry. None of this is your fault. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know. And you know my master...he...he worry about you, and when he worry he is incordigible." Passepartout sighed as his attempt at humor failed to get more than a passing smile.

* * *

Rebecca watched Passepartout for a moment as he left her rooms. She sometimes wondered if some of his language blunders were intentional, purely to break the tension when she and Phileas...no, she was *not* going to think about him.

As she brushed her hair, she resolutely tried to think about the play that she and Great Aunt Ermintrude were going to see that evening. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember the name. All she could think of was Phileas saying it was utter drivel.

Why was she thinking about Phileas again? It was like the story of the magic carpet that only flew if you didn't think about elephants. Then the magic carpet reminded her of Phileas' reaction to her harem outfit.

"This is ridiculous," Rebecca said aloud, as she slammed her hair brush onto the dressing table in front of her.

She heard Passepartout downstairs answering the door, apparently Ermintrude had arrived. She hurriedly stuck her hair up in the least complicated style she could think of, and resolutely refused to look in the mirror.

Ermintrude was waiting in the drawing room when Rebecca came down. She took one look at Rebecca, and said, "Close the door." Rebecca obeyed. "Now tell me what is going on. Phileas is 'indisposed,' which I assume means drunk, you look like you've been hit by a runaway carriage, and Passepartout looks as if someone kicked his dog or cat, or whatever it is the French keep as pets."

Rebecca took a breath, intending to deny anything was wrong, and then realized Ermintrude would never believe her.

"Sit down, dear, and tell me what has happened. I assume that if someone had died, I would have been notified." Ermintrude sat down in a comfortable chair and pulled out her ubiquitous knitting.

Rebecca sat carefully on the sofa and took her time arranging her skirts.

"Stop stalling, young lady, and remember that I was the one who taught you those delaying tricks."

* * *

Ermintrude waited impatiently for Rebecca to respond.

"No one died. It's just that...well, Phileas and I had a spat."

Ermintrude raised an eyebrow and clicked her knitting needles thoughtfully. "A spat? Even your cousin doesn't usually start drinking after a spat. In fact, Phileas rather enjoys them. I seem to recall he and Erasmus once spent an entire rainy day debating one game of cricket."

"Well, we weren't arguing about cricket."

"Oh, so it is an argument now?"

"Ermie! We're going to be late for the theatre."

Ermintrude looked at her niece. So smart about so many things and yet so stupid when it came to Phileas. "I am prepared to sit here all night if necessary. What, pray tell, was the subject of this spat, or argument, or whatever you wish to call it?"

"There was no specific subject," Rebecca said.

Ermintrude said nothing, but settled herself more comfortably in the chair and waited.

Rebecca fidgeted. Then, "Ermie, he'd wrap me up in cotton wool and lock me in a drawer if he thought he could get away with it. He was chastising me for putting my life in danger on a trip Jules and I took to visit Amelia Connor and her father in Abbeville."

"Was your life in danger?" Ermintrude suspected she knew the answer, but she was curious what Rebecca would say.

"No!" Rebecca reconsidered her answer. "Well, perhaps a little, but he trained me himself to be able to handle those situations. All I did was catch two vandals."

"Why was he so upset?" Ermintrude certainly knew the answer to this question, but she wasn't sure Rebecca did.

"I have no idea. The moment Jules and Amelia left the Aurora, he blew up. We barely spoke all the way to England."

"You have *no* idea why Phileas is so concerned for your safety?" Ermintrude sighed at her niece's obvious blind spot.

"I don't mind concern for my safety, but he's beyond all reason." Rebecca gave her aunt the same obstinate look she'd used since she was a girl refusing to take dancing lessons. Ermintrude sighed again. Foggs, no matter how distant the relation, were all so obstinate they made the proverbial immovable object look like a pushover.

Ermintrude eyed her niece. "You have been in these kinds of situations before, and Phileas has expressed his concern before, what is different this time?"

"Different?" Rebecca's innocent look would have fooled almost anyone except Ermintrude, who remembered the incident with the peach pie.

"Yes. What has gotten you so upset over this trip? Oh dear," Ermintrude had a thought. "Did something happen with Jules?"

Rebecca's eyes dropped to her lap. "Not precisely, I mean, no, not in the way you mean."

"Just to clear the air, are you in love with Jules?"

"Ermie!"

"Well, are you?"

"No, I'm not." Rebecca paused and Ermintrude waited. "He...well, I realized he's in love with me, or thinks he is, and I care for him a great deal. I was...tempted, I suppose." Rebecca's voice dropped as she spoke.

Ermintrude frowned at her niece. "So, you are fighting with Phileas because you feel guilty about your feelings for Jules?"

"It sounds silly when you put it that way," Rebecca said.

"Why do you think I put it that way?" Ermintrude asked. "So, you *do* love Phileas?"

Rebecca sighed. "Yes."

"If I live to be 100," Ermintrude said, "I will *never* understand the two of you. He loves you, too."

"I wish I were as certain," Rebecca said quietly.

Ermintrude rang for Passepartout, who dashed into the room. "Where is Phileas?" Ermintrude asked.

"Oh..." Passepartout hesitated. "He says he do not want to be disturbed."

"Where is he?" Ermintrude was implacable. "I will search the house if I have to, but then I will be in a worse mood, so for your master's sake perhaps you should just tell me."

Passepartout seemed to be considering a less dangerous career, perhaps back at the circus or his old job as a fireman. "He is in his study."

"Rebecca, stay put."

* * *

Phileas sat in his favorite chair, with a book in his lap and his eyes on the whisky.

"Damn it," he said aloud, "I will *not* start drinking. Even if that...that *woman* is driving me to it."

He started at the sound of the door opening. "Passepartout, if you're not here to tell me of Her Majesty's arrival, you're fired."

"Master, it's..."

"Oh, get out of my way and let me handle this," he heard Ermintrude say as she pushed Passepartout out of the way.

Phileas thumped the book in his hands closed emphatically. "*Dear* Aunt Ermintrude, normally I would be *delighted* to receive you, but this is not the ideal time. I certainly would not wish you to miss tonight's *scintillating* performance."

Ermintrude looked at him for a few moments. Phileas did his best not to fidget under her gaze, and wondered if the Service had ever considered hiring maiden aunts to conduct its interrogations.

Without taking her eyes off him, Ermintrude said, "You may leave, Passepartout. Perhaps you might take Rebecca a pot of tea in the drawing room."

"Master?"

"Go on, Passepartout, I'm hardly in any danger from my Great Aunt Ermintrude." Phileas' jest fell flat, Passepartout edged out of the room with an even more worried look (if that was possible) on his face, and Ermintrude sat down.

"At least you are not drinking," she said, looking him over. "Since I have already been through the runaround with Rebecca, I am going to cut to the chase. Tell me about this fight with Rebecca."

Phileas began to wish he *had* been drinking, because then this entire day might have made more sense.

"You will have to answer me eventually, Phileas. Wouldn't it be easier to get it over with?"

"When last I checked," Phileas said with as much dignity as he could muster, "Rebecca and I were grown, and I believe our arguments are now none of your concern."

"Piffle," Ermintrude said. "If the two of you are going to sulk like children, then I shall treat you as children."

Phileas fought back the urge to stamp his feet and yell that he wasn't sulking. "Rebecca and I have had a disagreement. We will work it out in time."

"Perhaps, but quite honestly I am tired of waiting. She's given me her side, and now I want yours.

"I suppose she said I'm smothering and overprotective," he said before he could censor it.

"Not in those words precisely," Ermintrude said.

"Well, I wouldn't need to be if she didn't put herself into the most absurd situations. That fool Chatsworth doesn't send her on enough dangerous missions, now she needs to freelance? Putting her life in danger over a damned archaeological site." The words poured out of Phileas in a torrent, and he looked away. He didn't want to look at Ermintrude as she lectured him about Rebecca's self-sufficiency.

"You love her very much, don't you?" Ermintrude asked. Phileas' head whipped around. She smiled at him, and he blinked a few times in surprise. "You thought I was too old to recognize true love when I saw it?"

"Ah..." Phileas found himself at a loss for words.

"Did you consider mentioning to her that the reason you are concerned for her safety is that you love her?"

"Ah," Phileas found himself saying again. He regrouped. "Of course I love her, she's my cousin and we were raised together."

"Phileas Fogg, that is possibly the worst case of stuff and nonsense I have ever had to identify." Ermintrude's tone was so cold, if Passepartout had been in the room he could have invented the sub-zero freezer. "You *are* in love with her, are you not?"

Phileas' jaw twitched and then he said, "Yes, yes I am." He occupied himself by tugging at his vest and fiddling with the book in his lap.

"Then why were you arguing with Rebecca about her trip?" Ermintrude sounded sympathetic again. Phileas wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

* * *

Ermintrude wondered if she'd pushed him too far, but Phileas finally spoke again.

"I was concerned she jumped into a dangerous situation alone. She could have been killed." Ermintrude looked at Phileas. The poor boy looked wretched, and she suspected there was more to come. She crossed her fingers and took a stab.

"She wasn't alone, Phileas, Jules and that lovely girl Amelia were there."

"Wonderful!" he threw back, leaping out of his chair and starting to pace. "As if *Jules* could do anything to protect her, as if *Jules* can control her, as if...." He shut his mouth with a snap and leaned against his desk.

Ermintrude watched his reflection in the darkened window in front of him and nodded. "She's not in love with him, you know."

"I know that!"

"Do you?" she asked. "Then why are you acting the jealous husband?"

Phileas didn't answer. Ermintrude's heart went out to the boy, but she'd come this far, she couldn't stop now. She stood up and drew on her most commanding tone. "Come with me."

Phileas made it halfway to the door before self-preservation made him ask, "Where are we going?"

"To the drawing room."

"Ah."

* * *

Rebecca was quietly sipping her tea and Passepartout was hovering over her when Ermintrude entered the drawing room, practically dragging Phileas behind her.

Unfortunately, Phileas stopped just inside the doorway looking uncomfortable and Rebecca refused to look up from her tea. Ermintrude sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she had thought.

"Phileas, sit down." Ermintrude gave him her patented "Are you a coward?" look, which worked as advertised. He stalked to the nearest chair and sat down, folding his hands precisely in his lap.

Now, Ermintrude paused. She looked at Passepartout, who knew what was coming next. "Passepartout, please leave us." His eyes pleaded with her to let him stay, but she knew they'd never say anything if he was present. His shoulders slumped and he left, pulling the doors closed behind him.

Ermintrude looked at Phileas and Rebecca, who were doing an outstanding job of ignoring each other. Then she cleared her throat.

"Now, my general policy is to leave my nieces and nephews to live their own lives," she said. Phileas snorted in disbelief and Rebecca snickered into her tea. Ermintrude glared at them until they were quiet again. "As I was saying, generally I would leave you to sort things out yourself, but you are both exceptionally stubborn. And the consequences of your being distracted by personal problems are rather worse than for the rest of our family."

"I suspect you are capable of *never* sorting this out unless you are pushed," she continued. "So, the three of us are going to discuss why you are so upset with each other. Or we can sit here and rot, as far as I am concerned."

"Ermie," Rebecca began.

"Rebecca, you are not here to talk to me. Speak to Phileas," Ermintrude said, "because I am tired of watching you dance around each other."

"If my cousin does not wish to speak to me...." Rebecca said.

"Rebecca, that's not it and you know it," Phileas said. "You're the one who walked out on our discussion."

"A discussion? That was a discussion? It felt more like a lecture to me."

"Damn it all, I was worried about you." Phileas' voice rose slightly.

"I knocked out two locals, idiots with less fighting ability than your basic alley cat. What could you be worried about?"

"That some day you'll leave and you won't come back," Phileas said, in his coldest voice. Ermintrude held her breath.

Rebecca's eyes were sad. "Phileas, I swear I'll always come back to you. So long as you want me here."

"Want you?" Phileas looked astonished. "How could you ever believe I don't want you here?"

Rebecca flushed. "You've never said..."

"I didn't know I needed to."

"Some things need to be said out loud, Phileas."

They stared at each other for a long moment and Ermintrude had to bite her tongue to keep from interfering. If they lost their courage now, that might be the end.

Slowly, Rebecca held out her hand, and in a flash Phileas was next to her on the sofa. "Rebecca, don't ever leave me," he said, carefully wiping a single tear from her cheek. "I love you."

"And I love you," Rebecca said, burying her face in his shoulder. His arms held her tight.

Ermintrude slowly stood up and left the room. Rebecca and Phileas didn't even notice her departure. She beamed, shut the door behind her, and went to tell Passepartout things would be all right.


End file.
